


Fate Is An Easy Mouthful

by bunnystealsyourcarrots



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Falling in love in Buenos Aires, RSSC, Some feels, Teacher Rey learns a lesson, some feeling each other up, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnystealsyourcarrots/pseuds/bunnystealsyourcarrots
Summary: A perfect time abroad, a perfect romance, everything so...perfect





	Fate Is An Easy Mouthful

****Chance is a funny thing.

 

One definition of chance is the possibility of something happening.

 

Getting up that morning, Rey could have knocked her cell phone into the mug of water left on the floor beside her bed. The alarm went off for the fourth time, her hand flung out to whack it, and the phone sat precariously perched on top of two books. Everything appeared perfectly set up to land technology into an unexpected watery death, and it was more than likely that she’d send the phone flinging. Cause and effect stacked against the woman, but her fingertips defied chance by merely grazing one book. Crisis averted, phone left intact to see another day, and her water in place for her foot to knock over when she stepped out of bed.

 

“Shit!” Rey winced, spinning around in a circle as she searched for something to wipe up the water before it ruined her notes. “Shit, shit, shit.”

 

Snatching up her favorite cardigan, she furiously mopped up the mess. Moaning and groaning with every sloshing stroke, now thoroughly awake and pissed off at herself in record time. After tossing the soaked garment into a hamper, Rey sat on the end of her bed. Pushing her fingers through her wild hair, and deciding with a defeated sigh that a bun would have to do if she intended to make it into work on time.

 

“What to wear?” she muttered under her breath. “What to wear?”

 

Creaking her apartment's wooden floor with every step, Rey held up various dresses to her nose. Sniffing to find something that didn’t reek with summer sweat. Searching high and low for one garment passing for clean, but only the fancy ruffled number from the night before worked out. Making do with looking dressier than normal, she hastily shimmied the bright dress up her hips. Bony arms threading through the straps next, and after a swipe of deodorant, she bolted out the door.

 

Opening herself up to the possibility of making it into work on time if she had enough subway fare on her SUBE card.

 

She didn’t.

__________

 

On a good day, the inside of the Palermo station is muggy, but it wasn’t a good day. No, it was summer, Rey was late for work, and the air thick enough to eat. Fanning her armpits with her notebook, the woman miserably melted in the heat while willing the Line D subway car to show up. Praying that it might not be quite so Latin American that day and actually arrive in three minutes like the flashing numbers claimed as opposed to five.

 

Judging by the announcement over the speakers, there was not a chance in a hell of that possibility becoming a reality.

 

“Córdoba y Cerrito, corte parcial por manifestantes.”

 

_Of course, there are demonstrators messing up the route. Of course, there are._

 

Resting her temple against a slightly cooler column, Rey closed her eyes. Shutting out everything going wrong that day and focusing instead on regretting the sangria, or eight, from the night before. Regretting also that clubs didn’t get bumping in Buenos Aires until two am while work remained at nine, and regretting nothing as much as choosing to stand beside a hefty gentleman who flicked sweat onto her arm whenever he took a drink of his coffee.

 

One drop at a time convincing the woman that she had no business expecting this day to go well.

 

________

 

Tourist guidebooks claim that the D line is a “polite line” where people orderly enter the cars after waiting for others to leave. However, Rey was fairly certain that nobody had informed the other riders that day of their particular duty. Chalk it up to the ten-minute delay, but the second the doors flew open Rey’s shoulder ended up knocked into by the first businessman.

 

Stumbling forward with a groan, she pushed her way through the crowd surging around her. Murmuring Spanish apologies as she fought tooth and nail to grab onto a pole near the door. Glaring down a woman who dared to grip two hands on the metal, and not backing off until the lady held up one in surrender.

 

“Gracias,” Rey said, her smile not reaching her exhausted eyes.

 

A minute later the car lurched forward, but it wasn’t until the crowd thinned out during the next stop that Rey finally spotted the man sitting down in front of her. Hunching over in his seat, the dark-haired hipster’s long strands grazed his brow as he flipped the page in his book. Absorbed in a world far away as the subway shook his broad shoulders and Rey swatted a mosquito off her arm. Taking victory that day where she could, but cracking a genuine grin once she recognized the title of the same story she’d only just finished reading.

 

“Didn’t you just love “Life after Life”?” Rey blurted out in English before remembering that she was shy and he a stranger.

 

Jerking his head up in surprise, the man’s topaz flecked eyes fixed on his adorable intrusion. Stunned into open mouthed shock for a beat before his full lips slowly pulled up into a friendly smile. “I did.”

 

“Sorry to have interrupted you.”

 

Closing the book in his hand, he shrugged. “Don’t be sorry.”

 

Absently scratching at a growing mosquito bite on her arm, Rey nodded. Hoping that she came across casual enough as she felt thoroughly knocked off balance by the handsome stranger's unfazed stare. Instead of immediately returning to his book, he'd maintained steady eye contact without any hint of mocking. Merely taking her in and Rey's grip tightened on the metal pole.

 

Torn between risking further embarrassment or breaking their connection, she ended up hesitantly explaining, “It's just that I only finished the sequel a couple days ago and it was surprising to see you reading it in English, too."

 

“Completely understandable,” he warmly assured her. “So are you American then?”  

 

“Mostly just embarrassed.” Rey awkwardly laughed. ”But that, too.”

 

His answering smile would have been bad enough, but the flash of dimples violently tugged at Rey’s fondness. It was too much; he was too much. The man in head to toe black flipped her stomach left and right, and the heat might have already sapped the energy out of her body, but her head couldn’t hang low with such a sight in front of her.

 

_Good God._

 

“What did you love most about the first book?” he asked.

 

Mulling over her answer, Rey unconsciously sucked her lower lip between her teeth. Waiting for the right taste to loosen her tongue. Pulling before opening up, and even though literature was worth speaking up for, Rey took her time. Carefully weighing all her many reasons for why she’d devoured the unique story in less than two days before answering with a small shrug.

 

“The power of choices.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Resting his forearms on his knees, the stranger leaned in closer to prevent missing a word. Staring up at her with a charmed intensity as if what Rey said actually mattered, and her lips fluttered for the right words.

 

“Well…," Rey stalled before pushing through, “there are all these combinations and variables shaping the main character’s experience through life, right? All these infinite possibilities that stem from one woman who can affect the fate of the world and the way the story plays out is remarkable and dark. The reactions she has to those surreal situations are something I think about a lot.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t know,” Rey admitted, glancing over her shoulder as the subway doors opened and shut again. “Maybe it has to do with me being an American in Argentina.”

 

The stranger’s lips twitched in amusement.

 

“Are you hoping to magically influence Argentine politics?”

 

Rey laughed. “No, I’m not that arrogant. But since I moved here, I have thought a lot about how easy it is to take your version of the world for granted.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“Like, here folks eat at nine at night, and it can take six hours to finish all the courses at an asado. And no matter where Argentines eat, they take hours while chatting,” she stressed, grinning incredulously. “Then the next day they all end up closing their shops in the afternoon to go home for a nap because they were out so late the night before. That's _their_ version of normal here. Discussing life with friends over the biggest beer ever, sleeping in the afternoon, and nobody acting like it's bizarre to see toddlers out at midnight on a Wednesday.”

 

“I’ve noticed that.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s just-” Rey cut herself off, scratching her arm again while sorting out her thoughts.“That whole way of approaching food was jarring at first, but now it doesn’t even register as strange...I guess it just took me a while to understand that I was so used to going, going, going, back home and that that attitude even bled into my food consumption,” Rey sighed out her exasperation. ”Honestly, I don’t think I ever appreciated the simple act of conversation over food the way Argentines do- the joy of sharing something so vital with somebody else.”

 

After moving aside for another rush of riders, Rey continued, “It’s stuff like that...I don’t know, realizing that your viewpoint might not be doing you any favors. Sometimes now when I’m out with friends, I'll find myself speculating on how much of my personality and behavior is relative to the chance location of where I ended up born." Rey shrugged, smile softening. "And I can’t help but wonder about the kind of woman I’d be if I was from here.”

 

After her second unexpected outburst, a blush crept up Rey’s chest to her cheeks. A flush of pink staining away her freckles. Another excuse to look away, but she couldn’t possibly when he gazed at her with something bordering on fascination.  

 

“Would you like to go to lunch with me?”

 

Sliding her purse up her shoulder, Rey frowned. “Sorry, I’m late for work.”

 

As the subway train rounded a corner, their knees brushed together. The lightest touch. Not nearly long enough.

 

Standing up in his seat, he placed his hand over hers.  “So why not miss it altogether?”

 

___________

 

Pinching herself didn’t make him go away.

 

He was real.

 

Every inch manufactured from Rey’s best dreams, but he was real.

 

They'd spent a week together, and Rey still couldn’t believe that this was her life- that _he_ was in her life. That the ridiculously tall artist named Kylo with his classic Roman profile fondly nuzzled against her throat as his arms hugged her waist. Keeping her curved against his body, keeping her in bed for another hour while swearing that all he needed was wine and her, and she agreed again and again. Laying with him for hours, lying beneath him for days because she’s shy but he’s bold enough for the both of them.

 

And after all, there was plenty of Malbec and plenty of him, and that was enough for her, too.

 

___________

 

It’s not that anybody described her as plain, but Rey didn’t know if she’d ever felt more seen than when Kylo looked at her. Sliding his hand up her thigh, playing with the hem of her dress on the bus. Affectionately gazing into her eyes while running charcoal smudged fingers along the threads, but she didn’t mind if he left a piece of him with her.

 

There was so much of her that belonged to him already.

 

___________

 

“Cerca de la playa.”

 

“Nope! Try again,” Rey chuckled, straddling his waist. Skating fingertips down the deep v-lines that cut between his sculpted muscles, memorizing and delighting with touch. Greedy for his breathless noises, and grinning like the cat that found the cream whenever he gave them out.

 

"Near the beach,” Kylo groaned, throwing his head back against the pillow.

 

“En Español,” Rey corrected, jabbing his side just to watch the strong man tremble beneath her fingers.

 

“That was en Español!”

 

“Not the way they say it in Argentina.”

 

“You are a tiny terror!” Shifting his hips up against her rear, Kylo suggestively rocked. Torturing her for a change as he unleashed the most dramatic pout. “Are these cruel methods how you teach your students?”

 

“Yep,” Rey quipped, bending over to brush her nipple along his mouth. “Why do you think they asked me to stay an extra semester?

 

“Mmm,” he moaned, biting between tastes. “Want to feel inside you.”

 

“Then what do you say?” Rey gasped.

 

Scrunching up his nose, her starving artist resentfully grumbled, “Cerca de la plah-zhah”

 

“You get all the good boy stars,” Rey laughed, and sliding her hips back, she made damn sure he saw them.

___________

 

One in black one in bright, the mismatched couple strolling through the winding Palermo Soho streets clasped hands while not bringing up how much time they had left. Wandering around the numerous cafes and cobblestones that earn Buenos Aires the nickname of ‘Paris of the South’ they laughed over shared jokes. Taking in the scenery between lazy kisses, and not once mentioning that Kylo neared the tail end of his trip, or that Rey nearly vomited over breakfast when she saw a flight text notice.

 

Time wasn't on their side.

 

However, even if it killed her not to scream it, Rey refused that day to say “I wish you could stay” because there was no use arguing over fates out of their hands when there remained such lovely warmth present in their grip. Sapping up every last kernel of good meant more than pleading for things that couldn't be, and so she smiled up at him when he slipped his arm around her waist. Drawing her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. Surrounding Rey in sunny day affection that wasn’t worth interrupting with tears, and only loosening their bond when he fished pesos out of his pocket to pay the ice cream vendor.

 

“Un helado de menta por favor.”

 

“Mint is my favorite!” Rey squealed, the color returning to her complexion for the first time that afternoon even before a grinning Kylo handed over the waffle cone.

 

“I know.” He placed a soft kiss on her temple, concealing a sigh against her skin. “That’s why I got it for you.”

 

___________

 

Every day, people pass each other on the street.

 

Unless there’s an actual physical run-in, most everybody continues walking on without stopping- so close but not close enough to truly notice the other person. Without realizing it, somebody could very well miss the other meant to change their life, but daily journeys continue without connecting. Everybody minding their own business- each of them losing the opportunity to learn why the person brushing by their shoulder has a network of family and friends who consider them their center.

 

Even in the thickest of crowds, people remain inches apart but worlds away, and when Rey said goodbye to Kylo, she almost wished that their bubbles never crossed. Letting go felt too hard when Rey's hands couldn't stop shaking against his neck. Wiping off tears already proved a lost cause in the cab, and as Kylo tenderly stroked her face, she hated that she knew what side of the bed he preferred. He took the left, she took the right, and she couldn't fathom a morning without him stealing the covers. Of all the impossibilities in the world that was too impossible to process, and so she didn’t look him in the eye. Stubbornly refusing to give him a long enough pause to say goodbye back because she knew how he took his coffee, what color charcoals he bought at the art store, and that his favorite color matched his eyes whenever he grew aggravated during his phone calls back home.

 

It only took three weeks, but Rey knew more than enough to slow her heart to an aching throb when his grip eventually eased.

 

“Please-”

 

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

 

Standing outside of the airport, it stopped mattering that they’d dated for less than a month. As Kylo gently pushed Rey's hair off of her wet cheeks, the last thing on her mind was demanding to know why he rarely spoke of his past. As far as Rey was concerned, where he lost his first tooth didn't matter- where he lost his virginity mattered less, and it didn't bother her one bit that she'd yet to see any of her brooding artist's work. After all, how could anything annoy her when in their future there would be plenty of time for learning everything? Whenever they saw each other again, they could very well exchange stories about every last scar on their bodies before watching Kylo paint her as he pleased, and so she didn’t push the issue.

 

Holding a ticket in his hand didn't mean the end of everything, it couldn't, and that’s why Rey only focused on his scent. Committing his bergamot aftershave to memory. Breathing in the citrus tang for possibly the last time for months, and allowing Kylo to keep all the mystery he desired since it was more than enough that she knew the way his breath caught when he came inside of her, how her name broke along his tongue. When his mood dipped, she knew how to light him up with a smile, and she hated everything about him that she knew and knew she’d miss.

 

“I need to see you again,“ she whimpered, salting his lips with each press from hers. “This can’t- I have to see you again.”

 

“You’re visiting your dad in two months right?”

 

“Yes.” Rey sniffed, her chin bobbing as Kylo looked torn and his hands comforted with slow strokes up and down her sides. “He,” she swallowed back a sob, “b-bought me a ticket to go back for the fundraiser but it’s in Boston.”

 

"And?"

 

Pressing her forehead against his, Rey cried, “And, I-I’m only there for a couple days, and you live in Portland, and it’s too far away, and-”

 

“Invite me,” he whispered, nipping her lip.

 

Against his tongue, she gasped. “You’d come?”

 

“Baby, there’s nothing I want more.”

 

__________

 

At home, Rey always raced down the Hall of Regrets.

 

Of course, that wasn’t the official name for the stately mahogany hall displaying portraits in her family home, but Rey coined the name at twelve, and even at twenty-two she kept her time around the paintings to a minimum. True, it wasn't even their fault, but her former relatives had a cruel way of leering behind their glossy veneer, and Rey didn’t appreciate it. If you asked her, the powdered up and pompous judged even after death, and so she’d briskly pass by those famous Daughters of the Revolution if it meant avoiding the chilling eye contact from one of her descendants.

 

But, on the night of her father’s fundraiser, Rey hurried past the not-so-recently departed for an entirely different reason.

 

Holding the train of her dress in her arm, she rushed down the hall that time with no hint of paranoid fear in her heart since giddy love took up far too much space. Yes, after months apart, she nearly sprinted to see him. Beyond eager to find out if he still believed that she had a smile worth flying out for.

 

Only when Rey reached the end of the hall did she catch her reflection in a brassy frame. Under Aunt Beatrice’s disapproving stare, she readjusted her stray chestnut hairs back into place. Braving the intense woman’s scowl if it meant that she could fake casual when she stepped into the foyer.

 

Weaving through the elegantly dressed crowd, Rey scanned the room for him. Greeting foreign dignitaries and talk show hosts alike with her forced chipper smile, but saving the real thing for Kylo. Never admitting to herself for one moment that she worried he wouldn’t show at all, but whenever she spied the man with paint chips under his nails, she let out a sigh of relief.

 

So quickly broken and put back together by the sight of her artist in a tux.

 

____________

 

There are few simpler joys than lacing fingers together

 

Up until that night, Rey never realized how much they’d taken touch for granted. They’d kissed, held, and openly adored, but what felt inevitable in Argentina proved impossible in Boston. There were too many cameras, too many eyes on the Senator’s daughter. Too many gossips lurking around who loved nothing more than to write Rey off as another political bad seed, but over the next couple hours, Rey and her Kylo flirted with danger.

 

Grazing their fingertips when reaching for glasses of champagne off the same tray.

 

Pretending it was an accident when she stumbled near a sofa, and he was there to hold her up.

 

Stealing a kiss behind velvet curtains.

 

“This is insane,” Kylo softly chuckled, aiming for a peck on the corner of her mouth but ending up licking her teeth.”Good God, I can’t-”

 

“Shh, don’t ruin it,” Rey pleaded, slanting her lips over his. “I’ve missed you.”

 

Traveling his hands up her gauzy gown, Kylo showed how much he shared the sentiment. Possessively squeezing her hips, he thumbed the hollows before roughly cupping her breasts again. Grabbing onto anything he could as Rey’s tongue threatened his ability to stand up, and oh how he'd welcome it. Meeting his passion, the girl that some dared called a wallflower proved delightfully demanding right back. Coloring flesh rosy with relentless affection, frantically touching. Tugging his dress shirt out of his slacks, slipping her hand down, but both of them cooling for a pause after their noses bashed together again.

 

Cursing under their breath, they both knew they deserved more than a bump and tickle in the dark, and she shivered when his needy growl rumbled against her lips, "You missed me?"

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then take me somewhere where you can show me that,” he moaned, sucking on the tip of her tongue.

 

During their couple months apart, Rey sometimes doubted if someone so extraordinary could still want her, but his touch convinced. This clever, passionate man- who'd christened nicknames for two of her freckles- still kissed like he meant it. Adoring her right into lightheaded, and Rey couldn't believe that anybody else had ever experienced such heated intensity.

 

No, surely nobody had ever kissed another with such focus.

 

“All the bedrooms are upstairs,” she whispered.

 

“You can’t seriously tell me that the only place to fuck you is hiding behind a curtain behind a bust of George Washington.”

 

“Kylo-”

 

“Rey,” he desperately begged, gathering her dress higher up her hip. “Does your father have a study or even a private office on the first floor?”

 

Jerking away from a touch that she’d dreamed about for months, Rey panted. Righting her dress, she then smeared her lipstick back onto her crimson mouth. Putting herself together before Kylo heard the cheeky smile in her whisper, “His office is locked but walk by it in five minutes, and it won’t be.”

 

___________

 

Up close, there were so many parts of him that she’d forgotten she adored.

 

The constellation of moles scattered across his pale cheek.

 

The flecks of tarnished gold in his eyes.

 

The hitch in his breath as he entered her.

 

Up against conservative Senator Kenobi’s bookcase, the couple liberally made up for lost time. Proving touch to taste how perfectly they fit together, muffling moans against flesh. Losing themselves, wrecking each other. Crying out in unison after Kylo hitched Rey’s thigh higher up his waist to deepen his thrusts, but their passion turned to pops of laughter when a small globe tumbled to the floor. Kicking the paperweight aside, they nearly fell to pieces before Kylo stole back Rey’s attention with a determined purse of his lips. Slapping their hips together again, he used her well as his quaking hand slid along the wood and limited edition leather spines behind her.  

 

“Close your eyes,” Kylo purred, and Rey’s lashes shut. ”Feel me.”

 

Sliding his thumb between her lips, he pushed her to focus on the taste of her sweat on his skin- the sound of him panting her praise. The scent of their arousal curling around so delicately, thousands of miles from where they’d started. The view of white lights flaring behind her eyelids when he raggedly huffed her name against her collarbone.

 

_________

 

Outside of RR Auction house, the sunlight streams cut through foliage to dance shapes across Rey’s shoulders. Slivers of bright caressed the bare skin around her dress strap, but Rey couldn’t summon a drop of admiration for beauty that morning. Not when her knee bounced as she waited, not when she hadn’t slept for days.

 

It was only after he pushed the door open that her leg stilled, and a shock of air rushed into her lungs. One cold surge of oxygen breaking up the sobs that had clenched around her heart for hours, but Rey swallowed everything back before standing up. Refusing to give anything else away. Refusing to be anything other than strong when she yanked back her arm and slapped him across the face.

 

Gripping his cheek, Kylo winced. “Rey-”

 

“No!” she cut him off, eyes flaring with rage as she noticed that his fingers were clean for the first time since they’d met. ”How dare _you_.”

 

“Rey-”

 

“Was any part of you real?” she loudly demanded, not caring about the scene they made on the sidewalk. Not focused on anything outside of the man who had held as he withheld now having the audacity to appear affronted. Shaking the sting off her hand, Rey looked back again at his clean fingers and broke as sickening realization slammed into her. “Fuck, it wasn’t by chance that you sat down by me that day, was it?”

 

“No,” he answered.

 

“How?” she shuddered, raising a hand to her mouth that couldn’t keep the words from shaking on the way out. “H-how many times did you ride in that car that day?”

 

“An hour,” Kylo evenly admitted. “You were late to work by an hour.”

 

All of her suspicions confirmed without so much as a flinch of shame. As a member of a political dynasty, Rey had always accepted a life concealed behind the long stretch of her famous father's shadow. It was a far gone conclusion that she’d never measure up to the beloved Senator’s accomplishments, she'd never even tried, but to face a man who'd methodically used her and then could shamelessly hold her stare...

 

Well, Rey had never bargained on loving two men who could make her feel so insignificant, but there it was.

 

“You’re not even an artist, are you?” she accused, lips wobbling uncontrollably as she already guessed the answer.

 

“No.”

 

Closing her eyes couldn't quell her near hyperventilating. In and out she strained and hurt. All the times that Rey pictured confronting Kylo, she’d envisioned him reaching out for mercy before she recoiled away. Snapping her hand back, _she'd_ deny him. But it was her chest painfully heaving as she replayed their engineered time together in slow motion. It was her heart shattering on repeat as he unemotionally admitted to playing with the poor little rich waif struggling to stay put together in front of somebody so casually ripping her apart.

 

Pinching herself didn’t make him go away either.

 

He was real.

 

Every inch manufactured from Rey’s worst nightmares, but he was real.

 

Tilting his head, Kylo cautiously watched her pace around in furious circles before turning back to point at him. “I never even told you, did I? Y-you knew-” she gasped, smearing her hand down her face,”you knew that I liked mint?”

 

Kylo’s jaw flexed. “Yes.”

 

“You knew so many things about me before we first met, didn’t you?”

 

“Yes,” he replied, his mask of indifference back in place.

 

“Was it worth it?” she spat out, swallowing hard. “My father’s copy- “The Great Gatsby”? Was it worth it?”

 

Shoving a hand into his jean pocket, Kylo deeply inhaled. “It’s, it’s the kind of money that can buy somebody a fresh start-”

 

“How much was it?”

 

“It was valued at over five hundred thousand.”

 

When he had the gall to mutter out his answer, the girl most often described as sweet glared at him. Staring her former lover down like the unscrupulous roach she now saw him be. Desiring to crush him under her shoe as bitterness dripped from every forced out word,

 

“Good, I’m glad to know what’s your prostitution rate.”

 

“Rey-”

 

“Oh,” she sneered. “How awful it must have been for you to seduce me for a fee- to pretend that you enjoyed each fuck,” she humorlessly laughed. “You probably laughed about it after washing off my scent. You probably joked about it with your friends, didn't you?" Giving him a clap, she taunted, "Christ, it's funny how you claim that you’re not an artist, but your performances say otherwise.”

 

“Rey-”

 

Violently smacking her hand against her thigh, she cut him off. “No! You don't get to say _my_ name ever again,” she snarled and his eyes briefly pleaded for her to stop. “And you can go straight to hell if you seriously think I’m so weak and lovesick that I won’t have you arrested.”

 

“I wasn’t the seller,” Kylo defiantly defended even as his brow knit together in frustration. “My hands are clean.”

 

“Out of all your lies, that might be the biggest one.”

 

Turning around, Rey left the break in her summer behind.

 

__________

 

Unable to stomach returning back to South America, Rey accepted a position at a private school in Connecticut. This time she'd teach Spanish instead of English, but there were no siestas, no romantic cobblestone streets stained with graffiti walls, and absolutely no projects that didn’t lead directly to an Ivy League track. Every day, Rey served somebody else’s future in the suburbs, but she didn't mind standing in as a cog in the wheel. The monotony suited her. All that same after same allowing her to work on autopilot- affording her a chance to exist for a while without expecting anything surprising.

 

Gifting her ample time to weave back together the pieces in her life that Kylo had shredded into tatters.

 

Unfortunately, those first rough months proved difficult enough for Rey. Alone in bed, she prayed to forget the press of Kylo's fingers against her hips, the weight of his body holding her down. On her lowest nights when she almost missed him, she'd have to remind herself that all his ardent touches were manual manipulation intended to satisfy his gains. No, memories of them couldn’t be trusted, but their time together proved harder to forget than to regret.

 

Serendipity had screwed her over.  

 

Not surprisingly, all her romance novels ended up chucked into the garbage in order to keep her from screaming "liar" at them. Couples holding hands in public made her roll her eyes, and it took time before the young teacher stopped tasting bile frothing in the back of her throat whenever she considered their relationship. Truthfully, keeping that level of angry at Kylo simply provided another excuse to wall herself off from trusting others, but it took more than a dollop of self-awareness before Rey begrudgingly accepted the need to free herself from suffering on a cycle.

 

_It’s not your fault that he’s messed up._

 

_But don’t join him either._

 

Over time, the tension gradually decreased in her shoulders. The lessons that she'd never wished to learn from him still lingered on, but she didn't allow the humiliation to overwhelm her as much. Little by little, Rey started sleeping better, returning her friend’s texts, and she could even look at herself in the mirror without cringing.

 

However, there was no quick fix for avoiding the little digs that she never saw coming: the unexpected shame tripping down her spine when passing by a bookstore, the mortification when she came upon an art supply shop, or the drop in her belly when she saw an ice cream parlor. Even thousands of miles away from her original mistakes, she felt his lies live on in places that she’d once loved, but Rey refused to shed any more tears after their last meeting. Accepting her situation with him as a learning lesson was still far better than wasting any more of her body’s energy on a man who’d clearly never appreciated it, and so Rey carried on.

 

Going to school, convincing herself that she was doing decent enough. Trusting that it was okay for life to return back to bland until Rey paused outside of her porch a few months later. Her hand clutching her chest. Gaping wide-mouthed in shock, and gawking at the tidily wrapped parcel containing a first edition of a book she now hated. Not her father’s copy, but one equally as pristine with a note placed on the first page.

 

_My real name is Ben,_

 

_I can’t replace what I’ve taken from you- trust, a book, pride. The reasons will never be good enough, but I can confirm that your senses were not entirely off...that it wasn’t all fake for me._

 

_My real name is Ben, and for the rest of my days, I’ll suffer from the choice of never once hearing you say it._

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,
> 
> So this was my entry for the RSSC, and I'd love to hear what you thought about it. Also, the name of the fic is a contrasting play off of the phrase, "the truth is hard to swallow."
> 
> -Bunny


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